TO THE MAN AT STARBUCKS, WHO SAID TO HIS FRIEND...
TO THE MAN AT STARBUCKS, WHO SAID TO HIS FRIEND,
“AT LEAST HE’S BUYING COFFEE INSTEAD OF WHISKEY…”
To have the patience stones
have, you must hold in your hand
an imaginary knife
and squeeze it until blood bobsleds
down your fingernails
and off your palms.
When you can render fists
like this
without flinching
you can cast a smile
and wait.
My pockets are lined
with loose change and loose beads
of blood. This my currency.
I could bitchslap your face red
make you swallow your teeth whole
pull your top lip over your chin
and tie your ears behind your head
but instead
we’ll be bros, parting ways
with head nods.
You’ll go on, head held high
but intact and full of pride
as fake as Hollywood breasts
and I will go on, smooth as stones
to my studio. I will empty my pockets
onto another canvas. This is how I invest.
I don’t pick my battles
I wage war on empty wall space.
